


Our Time

by lettertoelise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Fitz has been kidnapped by Hydra, Fluff and Angst, Other, Simmons to the rescue, post 1x17 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of being arrested at the end of 1x17, Garrett and Hydra make off with an injured Fitz, while Coulson and his team barely escape back to the Bus.  </p>
<p>Will Fitzsimmons ever be reunited?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jemma flinched and grabbed onto the straps of her harness as the Bus touched down, her jaw drumming with the vibration as the wheels made contact with the ground. She fought to keep the anxiety building in her stomach at bay, to focus on the mission as May had taught her. Her emotions were only going to cloud her judgment, force mistakes she couldn’t afford.  
It was a blur, the Ops team sweeping from the bus, dressed in black for stealth, Jemma trailing at May’s heels. It had been ages since she had seen the lab. The emptiness it now held was unbearable, his absence was oppressive, and Jemma found herself instead channeling her energy into training with May, driving the rage, the consuming fear for Fitz’s life into the punching bag for hours.  
When Hydra had first taken him, he’d fallen off S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for months. Jemma hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. Then they’d received the intel from Ward – he was being kept in a secret Hydra facility, for god knows what purpose in god knows what condition - the relief of knowing he was alive tainted with the fear of what they’d put him through.  
Silently the team crept up the back staircase, Coulson’s calculated orders streaming in through their headsets. And then she caught a glimpse of Fitz through the glass window – thin beyond belief, staring at a computer screen, leaning against a table almost entirely for support. Were those braces on his knees?  
May turned and looked Jemma directly in the eye. She didn’t need to talk for Jemma to understand – Stick to the plan. Don’t let your emotions drive your actions. Jemma swallowed hard. She knew what came next and fought back the nausea rising in her throat. Trying their hardest to remain discreet, the team made short work icing the lab technicians, but Jemma couldn’t stop herself. Fitz had looked up from his computer, expression terrified as he watched them flood into the room. Jemma made her way for him, grabbing his hand in hers. His eyes landed on her, but he pulled away, screaming and scrambling against the table, reaching for the phone . . . for back-up? What? Jemma was paralyzed with confusion. May suddenly swooped in behind him, yanking the phone from his hand and jamming a tranquilizer into his arm. His body convulsed and crumpled to the floor.  
Jemma, helplessly rooted to her spot, watched Trip appear and fling Fitz’s delicate form over his shoulder. A nod from May – To the roof. Quickly. Somehow Jemma managed to get her legs to work again and made her way behind them.  
Fitz’s face, the look of fear, it haunted Jemma every time she closed her eyes. She tried to focus. Get him to the Bus, Jemma. Bring him home safe.  
But he hadn’t recognized her. What had they done to him? 

 

Fitz was being kept in containment. It was clear now he had no memory of his time at S.H.I.E.L.D. and refused to speak, eating only what was necessary for survival, mistrustful of everyone. Well, possibly not everyone.  
“Are you just going to watch him through the monitor all day?” Skye asked, almost playfully. Perhaps she was trying to lighten the mood, but Jemma didn’t bite. She couldn’t go in there. If he really didn’t remember her – she wasn’t sure she could bear it. She’d been tracing his movements on the screen for days, watching him struggle with his crutches, barely able to move from place to place. Coulson suspected they’d shot him in the knees – he would never walk normally again, that was certain. He trembled when he slept and visibly shook when anyone entered the room. His loyalty, however, still seemed with Hydra.  
“They brainwashed him.” Ward had said. He’d been on the inside for a while, watching over Fitz, keeping him safe until they could extract him. It was a tentative alliance. Soon after Fitz was taken, Ward had come clean, confessed working for Hydra. It had shocked them all. Since then, Coulson had cautiously kept him on the team, hoping to exploit Ward’s connections within Hydra, turn their own mole against them.  
Jemma was watching Skye through the monitor as she sat down at the table in the containment room. Fitz was sitting upright on his bed, watching her wordlessly, shifting his weight restlessly from side to side.  
“Hey,” she said casually, leaning back against the chair. “It must be boring in here, just sitting around all day? Can I get you anything to work on? I know you like to keep your hands busy?”  
If Jemma hadn’t heard him scream the day they’d extracted him, she would have wondered if Hydra had done something to his voice. Fitz sat there, still shifting, silent.  
“Hey, Fitz, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me. It’s been a while.” Skye paused, leaning forward warmly reaching a hand in his direction and pressing it to the table. “It’s just good to see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz barely slept anymore, the dull ache in his legs forcing him awake every few hours, demanding movement. They felt unfamiliar under his touch as he ran his fingers down and massaged the sore muscle – the scars. 

“You should really let me take a look at that,” Raina kept pressing, exercising her usual coquettish smile, “We could really work wonders for you. Make your legs even better than they were before.” 

He wasn’t tempted. Rather sort it out himself. Slowly he’d graduated from the wheelchair to the crutches, manufacturing for himself a pair of knee braces to help him regain stability. If it hadn’t been for Ward, he might not have made it. 

Before the incident, as they called it, Fitz remembered only fragments. Luckily, his hands had their own memory, re-teaching him how to think like an engineer, piecing together practical theory. It had been Ward who had visited him daily, forcing him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to recover, bringing him books to study, reminding him what friendship looked like. 

The lab itself he also found unsatisfactory. Although the constant hum of technicians and machinery seemed familiar, there was an emptiness that haunted him, as though someone was missing. 

And then there were the gaps – time Fitz couldn’t account for. Days that started but somehow never finished. He couldn’t explain where he’d been after leaving the lab, but would suddenly find himself waking up in his own bed, covered in a cold sweat, pulse racing.

A side-effect of the incident, they’d said. S.H.I.E.L.D. had kidnapped him, erased his memory and tried to brainwash him so they could exploit the crop of his genius, or so it was explained to him. Ward assured him that he would recover, that these hiccups in time would themselves soon be just a memory. It didn’t matter whether or not Fitz trusted Hydra, he’d decided. He trusted Ward, and the effort of getting out of bed every day was enough to curb his cynicism. 

It wasn’t until they’d broken into his lab, rolling through the door like fog, leaving bodies in their wake, that Fitz actually believed it. He knew they’d reached for him and he’d screamed. And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst, but fluff is coming eventually, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma awoke with a groan and peeled her torso off the desk where she’d apparently fallen asleep. It was quiet, Skye and the others must have left for the night, the soft glow of the monitor her only companion – except . . . he was awake. 

Squinting into the light, Jemma could make out Fitz’s slim figure perched on the edge of the bed, turning one of his knee braces over in his hands. It made her smile to think of him fixing something, perhaps he was not so changed. 

Surprising herself, Jemma found her hand on the button to the door – more surprisingly, she felt herself press it and the door to Fitz’s room slid open. He looked up suddenly as she entered, blue eyes meeting hers. She saw him reach for the table and pull himself to standing. This was new. 

It seemed forever they stood there, trapped in the gravity of one another’s stare, one step at a time, Jemma being pulled across the room. As she got closer, she found it harder to believe it could really be him, that his face was more than just the ghost in her memory. When she was finally directly in front of him, she paused, then softly she brought a hand to his cheek, taking the scruff of his jawbone into her palm and gently tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. Fitz was motionless, expression trusting, if unreadable. She was stuck in his orbit now, leaning ever slowly forward, hand exploring the reality of his soft curls, the firmness of his shoulders. Without permission, her lips found his, brushing across them like a whisper.

And then he moved. 

Shifting his weight into his stabilizing arm, he used the other to pull her close, deepening the kiss, slow and salty with Jemma’s tears. For just a moment, the world stopped spinning, their bodies responding to this new conversation. Both of her hands were in his hair now, contracting and releasing, afraid to settle as though he might suddenly disappear beneath them. 

Fitz pulled away with an abruptness that knocked him down onto the bed, his eyes full of his earlier terror, as though he’d woken from a dream.

“No!” he was shouting. “I know what you’re trying to do! This isn’t real!” He had collapsed into himself, rocking back and forth, tears pouring from his eyes. 

Jemma, startled, was numb with shock and the pain of his warmth being torn away so unexpectedly. She felt Coulson pulling her body back into the hall, and watched helplessly as Fitz’s hysteria worsened and May was forced to administer tranquilizers. They were asking her something, but she couldn’t hear them. Back against the wall, she slid to the ground, pulled her knees to her chest – and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, this story has ended up being a lot darker than I originally anticipated. Sorry about that. I'm officially banned from listening to Olafur Arnalds when I write. 
> 
> Also the first kissing scene I've ever written. So that was fun. 
> 
> Next chapter should be lighter *fingers crossed*
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

In the very back of her closet, sheltered by all the utilitarian objects of her daily life, Jemma had a box, just small enough to house her dearest memories. It was now tucked tightly under her arm, on its way through the door to Fitz’s containment room and being placed on the table. 

This time Fitz didn’t look up when Jemma entered. He sat unresponsive on his bed, attention at the wall, unbroken. 

Jemma sat in the chair and let her presence settle in the room. Slowly her fingers lifted the lid from the box and left it open. 

“I remember the first day I saw you at the Academy,” she broke the silence. “I used to sit behind you in class so I could watch you sketch designs in your notebook when you thought professors couldn’t see. When we were finally introduced I pretended like I hadn’t noticed you before because . . . because I was 17, I guess. And shy. And I’d never met anyone before I wanted to like me as much I wanted you to.”

Jemma pulled a small square of graph paper from the box and neatly unfolded it, smoothing out the folds against the table affectionately. It was full of Fitz’s doodles, sketches of early ideas, ramblings and equations. Dipping her hand back in the box, she slowly lifted a tangle of metal – a delicate chain with a rose pendant – and laid it out, shivering with the clatter of the necklace’s contact with the table.

“You made this for me our first Christmas together. I was totally surprised. Our friendship was so new then, but somehow it already felt like home.” Jemma’s voice broke, and she swept a silent tear from her cheek. Fitz had turned his head to look at her, but she couldn’t stop now. 

Next she retrieved a small bundle of rectangular envelopes, bound with twine. Placing them down on the table, she chuckled softly. “These are from that summer we decided to write letters instead of e-mail because we wanted to recapture the lost art of correspondence. And this-” Jemma was smiling now as she pulled out a small stuffed monkey. “I bought you this when we were first assigned to work together on the Bus. To thank you for coming with me. I . . . I stole it from your bunk when you were first taken.”

The stories were coming faster now; item after item pulled out of the box and spread out, artifacts tracing the history of their friendship. Pictures of them in matching knitted jumpers, lovingly crafted by Fitz’s mom, tickets from their first Comic-con along with the bow-tie Fitz had worn dressed as the Dr., a few bags of PG Tips stolen from the cafeteria at Sci-Ops. 

When the box was finally empty, Jemma, exhausted with the effort, dropped her head into her folded arms and surrendered to her tears. 

It was a while later she heard his voice, hoarse and cracked, but he called her name: “Jemma.”

He remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Something that came to me today while listening to a lot of angsty music. Will try to stay on top of adding chapters if you like it!


End file.
